


Over the Seas and Far Away

by sg_reina



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, iwaoi - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 06:39:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2841671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sg_reina/pseuds/sg_reina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a person says his real feelings, it is always repeated twice. The first would be loud, boisterous, blaming; the second would be soft, calming, accepting. Oikawa was no different. And that's why Iwaizumi doesn't cry at his funeral.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over the Seas and Far Away

_Four hundred and seventeen_

"Oi, Iwaizumi, have you left the office already? Or have you forgotten that today’s the day your precious high school teammate is getting married?”  

Iwaizumi steps out of the cab at Ikebukuro, straightening his tie, and puts his mobile back up to his ear. He really isn’t comfortable at all in these stiff formal clothes, and there’s so many people around that he can't maneuver well in this unfamiliar city.  

He takes huge strides into the lobby, ignoring the quizzical looks receptionists throw in his way as he heads directly to the elevator.

"Yeah, yeah, of course I remembered. I’ve just reached the hotel. I'm heading up right now, Hanamaki.”

"Damn, you're already late! And I was thinking that we all could get together to drink before the ceremony starts, for the old times’ sake,” Watari sighs in disappointment, his voice muffled by the speaker mode. “Well, at least we can still get together after the ceremony. We haven’t seen each other since the third-years graduated, right? That’s about seven years ago, right?”

"Who would have expected Matsukawa to be the first of us all to get married, haha! To think that he was always so strongly against the idea of marriage back in high school!"  

”And I’m so excited to be able to meet everyone again! I wonder what new moves all of you picked up these few years!” Yahaba gushes enthusiastically, obviously still burning with passion for volleyball despite it being four years since he last tossed a ball.

Hanamaki’s voice cuts through all the bustling and chuckling of their juniors. “Iwaizumi, didn’t you receive an offer to join the National Team along with Oikawa? I can understand why Oikawa would reject it but why didn’t you join?”  

Iwaizumi waits impatiently as the numbers on the electronic monitor slowly crawl from 35 towards 1. He feels extremely out of place here, an odd irregularity in this posh hotel with high ceilings, lush furniture and exceedingly beautiful chandeliers to match.

“Seriously, Hanamaki, do you have to interrogate me now? We'll be meeting in a few minutes' time, save your questions for later." Iwaizumi clicks his tongue in annoyance and starts tapping his feet. "But I don't regret my current salaryman career."

Twenty-five years old and working at one of the top companies in Tokyo, Iwaizumi doesn’t find much to complain about his current life. Yet occasionally when he’s alone, he finds himself wondering why he didn’t end up as a volleyball coach like Matsukawa (maybe he'll be the one getting married then) or on any National teams like Oikawa.

He’ll love to run around the court, jumping to spike every ball Oikawa sends his way. He’ll love to find the fun and laughter he had in those fleeting days of high school. He’ll love to find a way out of this mundane life of churning out proposal after proposal as a salaryman.  

But he was left behind.

Oikawa had suddenly picked up and moved to America after graduation ー and the only thing he left was a note of apology addressed to him ー perfectly fine on a team without him (not even on a Japanese team), but for Iwaizumi, it's different. There's no meaning for him to be on a team without Oikawa.

There's no meaning to volleyball if Oikawa isn’t the one tossing to him.

That's why he can't even bear the sight of a volleyball, or Oikawa's name flashing across the screen of his mobile after that. And just like that they've lost contact after graduation. It's almost ridiculous how frail their friendship was.

Perfect trust, or so Oikawa called it. Iwaizumi scoffs. It's more like perfect fragility.  

The elevator opens its rustic styled doors with a charming tune and Iwaizumi steps off to the side for the people inside to exit. His gaze falls to the floor, counting the number of feet he sees.  

Two feet stop before him, angled awkwardly as if their owner was about to leave but hesitated. Iwaizumi raises his gaze.  

"It's been a long time, Iwa-chan."  

Iwaizumi’s head snaps up at the sound of that annoyingly familiar nickname and sees Oikawa standing there in his full glory and same old grin albeit looking more gaunt and leaning heavily against a worn-out crutch.  

"Did you miss me?"

* * *

_Four hundred and ten_

Imaizumi hates how easily Oikawa is able to weasel back into his life and still know him best, even all the minute changes he undergone in these seven years alone, just as if he had never left. He hates how he isn't able to stay angry with Oikawa for long. He hates how he always winds up in Oikawa's pace.  

He hates how much he loves Oikawa's smiles. "Iwa-chan, shall we go to the summer festival later? There's yakisoba, cotton candy and fireworks!"

But the most of all, he hates how much he missed him.

"No," Iwaizumi growls, typing away furiously on his laptop. "I have a proposal to complete and unless you can give me three million yen in exchange, I'm not leaving unless I finish this."

Oikawa slumps on the top of the couch in disappointment. He kicks his feet out under himself, making the couch tip back and forth. "That's so mean, Iwa-chan! I haven't seen fireworks in so long, and there's even candy apples. I want a candy apple!”

"Stop whining like a child, Kusokawa. You're not helping me concentrate."

The brunet sighs in defeat and allows himself to fall back onto the seat. "If you bring me to the festival I'll keep quiet."

"Do you think I'll believe you?"

"If you bring me to the festival I'll give you such a good time you will never forget tonight."

"That sounds extremely suspicious. Count me out."

"Iwa-chaaaaaan! Please don't abandon me!" Oikawa exclaims, reaching past the backrest of the couch to cling to Iwaizumi's shoulders. However mid-way through his movement, he loses his balance and falls backwards off the couch onto the carpeted floor, his flailing arm managing to knock over the lukewarm glass of water positioned precariously at the side of the coffee table. His single crutch then clatters noisily onto the ground beside Oikawa as if to remind him of his injury.

"What are you doing, Kusokawa? Stop moving around with a sprained ankle," Iwaizumi cussed, tossing a rag over which hits Oikawa square in the face. "Seriously. Look, your bandages came loose. Sit still and let me redo them."

Oikawa snags the rag from the ground and starts dabbing at his wet shirt. "It's okay, Iwa-chan! I'll redo them myself later!"

"Sit. Still." Iwaizumi plops down on the cushion before him, and straightens Oikawa's injured limb so the foot rests perfectly on the former's lap. With nimble yet surprisingly gentle fingers, Iwaizumi unwraps the cream bandages.

"It's healing well, isn't it?" Oikawa interjects tersely and Iwaizumi nods stiffly though not in complete agreement.

The foot is swollen at the ankle right down to the toes, where it's a gradient of a yellowing purplish bruise to a pinkish red shade. Iwaizumi shies away from the sight, involuntarily gulping, but knows better than to ask what happened.

But as usual, Oikawa sees right through him.

“I lost my footing and fell down during a match. But it isn't as bad as it looks! And apart from needing to go physiotherapy sessions starting next week as well as sitting out of official matches for a while, I've got nothing to lose. Really!"  

Iwaizumi scoffs at the nervous lilt in Oikawa's voice and in reflex, pinches the latter's nose to relieve the tension. Briefly, he wonders if Oikawa is lying because that simply doesn't look like the result of a simple fall, but he doesn't voice that question.

He has a feeling he doesn't want to know the answer.

"Come on, let's go. It's almost time for the fireworks."

"Eh? We're going? Even though you were protesting so much against it just now? What about your work, Iwa-chan?"

"I can just finish the rest after we come back." Iwaizumi helps Oikawa up and passes his crutch over before turning around to save his half-completed work and shutting down his laptop. "Or do you not want to go now?"

"I do! I'm definitely going if Iwa-chan is going!"

"Well then, we'll be going to the shrine. There's too many people at the festival itself and I can't let you hobble around with a leg like that."

"But the number of steps to the shrine is..."

Iwaizumi slams the screen of his laptop down and reaches past Oikawa to grab his house keys and wallet. "I'll carry you up and down the stairs then. You have no complaints right?"

Heat creeps up Oikawa's face and neck and he immediately lowers his gaze, unintentionally allowing his forehead to brush against Iwaizumi's shoulder. He opts to stay in that position until he hears metal jingling as Iwaizumi slips the keys into his pocket.

Then he pulls away and shoots a bright, sincere grin at his best friend.

"Nope, not at all!"

Iwaizumi swears his heart skips a beat.

* * *

_Three hundred and ninety-eight_

“Oikawa-san, you’ve been doing this for twenty minutes already. Let’s take a break, okay?” The physiotherapist taps the tip of her ballpoint pen against the side of her clipboard and sends a friendly smile his way.

In reply, Oikawa gives a curt shake of his head and clings to the poles on either side of himself, struggling to get another step forward but his injured foot refuses to budge. He glares down at his bandaged ankle and clicks his tongue in annoyance.

“Oikawa-san, I… I think it’s really time to stop!”

“But if I don’t do this I won’t be able to walk in a few months, right?”

“Even so it isn’t a reason for you to overexert yourself! If you injure your ankle beyond repair you won’t be able to walk in weeks, let alone months!”

Oikawa chuckles weakly. “I was always the kind to prioritise looking at the larger picture.”

“Oikawa-san!” The physiotherapist unintentionally raises her voice an octave higher. “Please!”

Iwaizumi slips into the physiotherapy room from the back door at that exact moment, panting from overexertion from rushing over after work, as he circles around the patients at the other stations to get to Oikawa. The physiotherapist’s eyes light up at the sight of Iwaizumi and instantly asks for help. “Please help me stop him too. Oikawa-san’s ankle shouldn’t be able to take that much more for today!”

“It’s okay. It’ll just be for a little while more,” Oikawa insists and takes a large daring step forward but his sweat-slicked palm slides across the metal, causing his body to lurch forward and he finds himself falling towards the floor at an incredible pace.

Everything seems to move around him extremely quickly — the physiotherapist surprised face as the clipboard slips from her grip, the screams of fellow patients, and the warmth underneath his body as Iwaizumi breaks his fall.

Iwaizumi’s briefcase clatters to the ground a little ways behind them, and the stack of documents in it spills out. “Oi, Kusokawa, the physiotherapist told you to stop. Don’t push yourself. And don’t add work for me, I’m tired after rushing here, idiot.”

It takes a whole minute before the brunet is able to form a coherent reply.

“T-That’s true,” Oikawa replies, pupils dilated from an adrenaline rush and voice hoarse. “I’m sorry, I’ll be going home now.”

The physiotherapist picks up her clipboard and dusts it off. “Don’t put too much pressure than required on your injured foot for the next two to three days, okay, Oikawa-san? It’ll be bad if the condition aggravates. And don’t forget that your next appointment is next Wednesday.”

With Iwaizumi’s help, Oikawa gets back onto his feet and limps towards his crutches. Iwaizumi tosses everything back into his briefcase and picks up the rest of Oikawa’s belongings at the corner of the room and waits patiently for the other to hobble over.

“We’re taking a cab home. I’ll call for one later,” Iwaizumi yells over his shoulder, and hurries forward to press the button for the elevator. Oikawa follows after slowly, stumbling, with his face twisted in pain. He tries to take smaller but quicker steps.

“It’s okay, I’ll walk instead! The train station isn’t that far!”

Iwaizumi seethes. “The physiotherapist told you to tone it down. I’m not letting you walk anymore today.”

“But Iwa-chan-!”

“No means no. Or do you want to injure yourself so much that you can’t play volleyball in the future? Or have you forgotten that the players on the national team are waiting for you to recover and return?”

A chime rings out, alerting the duo to the elevator’s arrival at their floor. The doors to the empty elevator slides open and Iwaizumi takes a step forward. Behind him, Oikawa’s crutch clatters to the ground noisily and Iwaiizumi instinctively averts his inquisitive gaze. The volume of Oikawa's voice falls to that of a whisper. “It’s not like they are waiting...”

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t ask. Oikawa doesn’t usually show his weaknesses and when he does, it’s often as an afterthought, and Iwaizumi wants to believe that that part of Oikawa hasn’t changed.

“No matter what you say, we’re taking the cab home today,” Iwaizumi shrugs, holding the elevator until Oikawa picks up his crutch and stumbles in. “But since it’s Saturday tomorrow, so we can stroll around the park after breakfast. You have no complaints about that right?”

Oikawa’s eyes light up at the prospect and the pained look on his face is finally replaced by his usual smile.

* * *

_Three hundred and fifty-two_

It’s raining.

Iwaizumi is seated in front of his laptop as usual, typing away for another proposal that he has to submit by the end of the week. The click-clack of the keyboard puts Oikawa off and the latter grumpily squeezes the volleyball he found lying under the couch and dusts it off.

“Hey, Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan, spike this!” Oikawa flicks his wrists outwards with utmost precision, sending the ball spiralling towards a grimacing Iwaizumi. The half-deflated ball hovers for a brief moment before falling at an awkward angle towards the ground but Iwaizumi manages to snag it easily from the air instead. “Eh... Why didn’t you hit it? Although it would have been good practice!”

Iwaizumi glares down at Oikawa and considers sending the ball directly into the other’s face, but he manages to curb his urge to attack an injured patient. He can’t bring himself to cause Oikawa more harm. Though Oikawa’s ankle is visibly healing well, the doctor recommends the usage of a wheelchair which simply means that there’s probably something else wrong, and before Iwaizumi knows exactly what that is, he swears he isn’t going to risk hurting Oikawa more.

“If you do so much as scratch my furniture, I swear I’ll make you pay for the repair fees.”

The brunet pouts and sticks his tongue out at the other, reaching over the wheelchair’s armrest to pinch and squeeze Iwaizumi’s cheeks. “Seriously, Iwa-chan, you’re being really really mean recently! And there’s no way that a half-deflated ball like that would be able to even hurt a fly! Why aren’t you at least keeping my decade-old gift to you in top condition?”

With a pained expression, Iwaizumi smiles.

Oikawa averts his gaze. “Say, Iwa-chan, you really should enter the Japanese National team!”

“I haven’t even been doing any exercises except jogging on Saturdays. What makes you think that they’ll even hire an old salaryman like me?”

"What do you mean by old? Twenty-five is not old! Or are you saying that I’m old?” Oikawa snaps, pouting. He spins his wheelchair around so he could glare daggers at Iwaizumi’s back without straining his neck.

The dark-haired man chuckles in response to Oikawa’s sensitivity at the topic of his age. “Seriously, why are you behaving like some old lady?”

“That’s only because you have no delicacy!”

It’s just like all those nights in elementary and middle school when they had their regular weekly sleepovers and they’ll spend the whole night bantering incessantly over some small minute topic until sleep tugged away their consciousness. But this time it’s different. They’re older, and this banter is Iwaizumi’s way of changing the topic, but it’s no use because he understands Oikawa enough to know that the latter would definitely bring the topic back.

“I want to see Iwa-chan spiking again. That run-up, that jumping stance. The moment you are at the highest point of your jump, the moment your hand connects with the ball. The rush of wind as your hand swings down. The surprised expression the opponents have when you blast the ball past all their blockers and earn a point. I want to see all that again.”

Silence.

Iwaizumi doesn’t know what to say. Words form in his head, rearranging themselves into sentences that sound awfully wrong, then break apart back into individual words. He clenches his hands into fists and inhales.

“Even if the one tossing to me isn’t you?”

Iwaizumi knows that this isn’t the correct thing to say when a hurt expression crosses Oikawa’s features but he doesn’t regret it. This is the question he wanted to ask Oikawa all those years ago when he left for America without notice. He can’t regret saying them now. He won’t allow himself to.

Oikawa lowers his gaze to the floor and sighs. “Yes.”

Somehow, he knows Oikawa is trying to hold back his emotions, that he doesn’t exactly mean what he just said, but the anger swelling in Iwaizumi prevents him from comforting the other. Instead, he grabs the keys from the top of the coffee table and stomps out of the apartment, slamming the door behind himself and starts jogging as fast as he could in the heavy rain.

It’s ridiculous. He knows he’s just taking his anger out on Oikawa, but he can’t help it.

The systematic rhythm of water droplets against the top of his head clears it from all unnecessary thoughts, and the liquid matts his hair to his face, mingling with his tears and slides off his jaw.

Oikawa remains in the apartment, in the toasty warmth, and on his wheelchair. He neither follows nor chases.

He knows he can’t catch up, not on this wheelchair.

“I’m just a burden, right, Iwa-chan?”

* * *

_Three hundred and twenty-four_   
  


Ten minutes after eight, there’s the sound of a lock turning and Oikawa maneuvers his wheelchair so he exits the kitchen and is at the end of the doorway instead. He catches sight of Iwaizumi at the doorway, removing his boots and dusting the snow off his coat.

“Welcome home, Iwa-chan! Do you want to have dinner first, or take a bath?” Oikawa gestures to the dining table filled with food that he prepared 一 tempura, fried chicken and Iwaizumi’s favorite dish, agedashi tofu. “Or me~?”

“Shut up, Kusokawa. You’re being gross.” Iwaizumi tosses his coat over and it lands right smack into Oikawa’s face. The brunet grumbles as he throws the coat that lands on his lap over the back of the couch. The article hits the back of the seat instead and falls into a heap on the floor.

“When did your aim become this crappy?” Iwaizumi snorts as he hangs up his coat before proceeding to the dining table where he picks up a piece of fried chicken and chews on it. Oikawa takes a detour around the dining table and glances up at Iwaizumi expectantly, waiting impatiently for a review of his culinary skills. Iwaizumi sighs.

“It’s not bad.”

“You mean it’s delicious, right? Right? Iwa-chan, you should be more honest!” Oikawa teases, spreading his arms and smirking up at Iwaizumi. “Wouldn’t I make a good wife?”

Iwaizumi feels his brow twitch and he pinches Oikawa’s nose until his smug expression turns into one of protest. “Shut up, Bakakawa. What’s with that patronising look?”

The brunet taps Iwaizumi’s hand until he lets go.

“Well, it’s del- tastes okay.”

Oikawa snickers at the heat creeping onto Iwaizumi’s cheeks and decides to bring the teasing up a notch. Trying to hold back his laughter, Oikawa then picks up a piece of agedashi tofu from the plate and holds it out right in front Iwaizumi’s lips. “Say ahhhhh~”

“Like hell I’ll do that!” Iwaizumi lashes out in embarrassment and swats at Oikawa’s hand, narrowly missing. However, the food falls from between the chopsticks and splatters on the floor, sending bits and pieces all over the marble tiles.

The dark-haired man curses under his breath and squats, picking up the large chunks. Oikawa stares in disbelief at the gap where the piece of tofu should have been before he gradually lowers his gaze to the mess on the floor, then to meet Iwaizumi’s gaze.

Iwaizumi swallows when he stares straight into Oikawa’s eyes. His eyes were wide open, pupils dilated from anxiety, and Iwaizumi could feel the fear and distraught reflected in them. He doesn’t know an Oikawa like that; he hasn’t seen an Oikawa like that.

An Oikawa who looks so scared that he might cry 一 he doesn’t know someone like that.

“Oika-”

“It… It’s okay, I’ll clean it up later. More importantly, you should try this first. I made it specially for you, you know? Remember the last time I tried to make this dish and I ended up almost setting your kitchen on fire, that was-” Oikawa continues nervously babbling as he turns back to the table and attempts to pick up another piece only to have it slip from his chopsticks. He tries again but pierces the food instead.  “Why can’t I...”

On his third, fourth and fifth try, his chopsticks aren’t even near the object and he is merely frantically clawing at the air instead. The brunet’s shoulders heave. “W-Why can’t I-? This… Why can’t I even pick something like this up? I- I… Fuck!”

Iwaizumi doesn’t know this Oikawa.

The Oikawa he knows doesn’t cry. He doesn’t turn into this nervous mess. And more importantly, he doesn’t cuss.

Iwaizumi doesn’t know this fragile side of his childhood friend and he briefly wonders how many more sides he doesn’t know as he takes a step forward 一 the fallen piece of food squelching against his sole but he doesn’t even flinch 一 and pulls Oikawa into his arms.

“Relax, idiot.” His hand covers Oikawa’s trembling one and takes control over the chopsticks. Oikawa visibly relaxes with Iwaizumi whispering into his ear, making it easier for the latter to pick an entire block of agedashi tofu up.

“It’s delicious.”

The brunet’s eyes widen a fraction then slowly at the corners as he smiles. “I’m sor-”

“Thank you.” Iwaizumi interrupts, yelling over his back as he makes his way to the bathroom for shower, adamant on not wanting to hear Oikawa’s apology. “I want to eat rice so make sure it’s ready before that I come out of the shower. And clean up that mess on the floor too.”

Oikawa feels a laugh building and he lets it all out after he’s certain Iwaizumi is in the bathroom. The water isn’t running yet and he just knows Iwaizumi can hear him, but for once, he doesn’t care. Because for the first time since he’s diagnosed with this disease, there’s actually someone who is still willing to treat him like an able-bodied human being.

“Although you already suspect something...” Oikawa mutters, his self-depreciating laughter gradually turning into muffled sobs as he buries his face into his hands. “Iwa-chan, you’re really too kind.”

Iwaizumi stands still against the wall just round the corner. If he turns to his left he’ll be able to see Oikawa, and he wants nothing more than to just run back there to comfort him but his feet refuses to move.

Slowly, he slides down against the wall until he’s seated and strangely, he too feels like crying.

* * *

_Two hundred and sixty_

“Merry Christmas, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa yells and skips a little in front of the other, almost tripping over his own feet. He flails a little on the spot, tipping backward precariously before struggling to regain his balance.

Iwaizumi sighs, stretching out his free hand to Oikawa’s back and pushes him forward a little. After narrowly avoiding falling, Oikawa twists out of Iwaizumi’s reach without any word of thanks. Iwaizumi sighs again. “Are you sure you should be running about like this?”

“Of course! My ankle is all good now and I’ll be fine! See?” The brunet chuckles as he twirls around, almost knocking into the little girl beside him in the crowd.

Iwaizumi pulls his arm and tugs Oikawa toward himself. “Careful. Don’t go around knocking into kids.”

Oikawa scoffs and strides forward, trying to put some distance between them. Iwazumi rolls his eyes but slows down his pace slightly. The people behind them click their tongues in annoyance when they have to shift their routes around them.

“Mom, look! That man is walking weirdly!”

“Shouta-kun, it’s rude to point!”

That’s true. Oikawa’s pace is really slow and he’s taking even smaller steps than usual in order to increase his speed. His feet are bent at a weird angle and his right heel isn’t making contact with the ground at all. It hurts to even look at the gait. And Iwaizumi knows that Oikawa’s healed ankle has nothing to do with it.

Oikawa turns around, sticking his tongue out at the kid.

“Grow up already.” Iwaizumi raps the side of Oikawa’s head lightly and the brunet turns back with a huge pout.

“But Iwa-chan, that boy-”

“Grow. Up.”

“Iwa-chan is never on my side,” Oikawa huffs as he directs his attention to the paper bag Iwaizumi is holding in his left hand. “Is that your Christmas present to me? You know, I have one for you too, right here in my bag!”

Iwaizumi swiftly hides the paper bag behind himself and feigns ignorance, refusing to reply to Oikawa. Amused with his response, the brunet continues teasing him, trying to find out the identity of the gift.

“Shut up already, it’s not for-” And Iwaizumi literally feels his throat run dry when he notices Oikawa landing on his right foot in the wrong angle, and his centre of gravity tilts out of control sending him towards the road. Iwaizumi dives forth, stretching his hand out between the people in the crowd, and he feels the warmth of Oikawa’s fingertips against his.

The world around Iwaizumi turns white and silent. All he can see is Oikawa. All he can hear is the pounding of his heart. All he can feel is Oikawa’s warmth. Iwaizumi takes another step forward, ignoring all the passer-bys yelling at them, and feels Oikawa’s warmth against his palm.

He can do this. If it’s now, he’ll be able to grab Oikawa’s hand and-

“Wait, Shouta-kun!”

And the kid earlier runs past in between them, pushing his way through and smears his double chocolate ice-cream against the front of Iwaizumi’s shirt as runs right into him.

Iwaizumi stands there, stunned, as the horrendous sound of Oikawa’s body meeting the concrete road surface reverberates in his head. He knows he needs to go over now, he needs to call an ambulance, but he can’t move; he won’t move.

There’s a unfamiliar prickling sensation at the back of his eyes.

“Someone, stop that van!”

The driver on the lane swerves his van when Oikawa collapses onto the road, narrowly missing him, and runs into the side of a cab passing by. The vehicles behind sound their honks, and the scene becomes a crazy mess of noise.

“The bleeding won’t stop!”

“Is he dead?”

“What just happened?!”

“Call the ambulance! Call the- Hey, you. Hey! Are you his friend?”

“Oi- Oikawa!” The hand on his shoulder snaps Iwaizumi out of his frozen state of anxiety and he finally finds the energy to move. He brushes away the hand and throws one foot numbly before the other until he takes the necessary three steps to the curb. Oikawa is splayed out on his right side, half on the sidewalk and half on the road, groaning in pain and visibly on the verge of losing his consciousness. The pool of blood under him spreads out by the second, increasing in volume.

“Oikawa, I-”

The brunet chuckles weakly, glancing up at him with glazed-over eyes.

“What’s with that face? I’m fine… Iwa-chan.”

The blood makes contact with the van’s tire and runs along its ridges, flowing down across the road.

* * *

_Two hundred and fifty-four_

Iwaizumi knocks on the door before sliding it open. “Happy New Year, Doctor. How is he?”

The doctor removes the brain scans and slides them back into their envelope. Next, he brings out the X-rays of Oikawa’s right arm and hip which took the brunt of the fall and clips them to the screen. He points at several locations with the tip of his ballpoint pen.

“As you can see, there’s quite a few minor cracks in his humerus and ulna, but the fractures themselves aren’t of much concern. They’ll heal with time, but whether the patient has enough time until then is another issue.”

Iwaizumi feels the strength leave his shoulders. “What do you mean?”

“I heard from the patient that you already knew of his situation. Did he not fill you in?”

“Not any of the important details.”

The doctor removes his glasses, wipes them, and puts them back on again. “I’ve been asked by the patient not to reveal the name of the disease to you, but it is an incredibly cruel illness that slowly robs a person of his ability to live without depending on anyone else. Slowly, he’ll waste away, and in the end he wouldn’t even be able to wake up.”

Iwaizumi holds the doctor’s gaze steely. “Is there an easier way to explain this?”

“You can think of it as muscular dystrophy.”

“It’s similar, but not the same?”

The doctor pulls down the X-rays from the screen and slides those back into another envelope with Oikawa’s name labelled in front. “It’s not exactly similar. Instead of the muscles wasting away in MD, the disease Oikawa Tooru-san has affects his ability to control those muscles.”

“Something that affects the nerves then?” Iwaizumi lowers his gaze. “Is there a cure?”

The doctor files both envelopes into a folder enclosing the details of patients in this entire year. “There’s no known cure yet. He was first diagnosed with this illness in autumn of his third year in high school. The onset of his symptoms was faster than expected, and as his parents wished, I recommended him to a hospital in America for further treatment.”

“I didn’t realize. I always thought he went to America to join the National team...” Iwaizumi trails off. There’s an ache in his chest. He has always been the one closest to Oikawa but he never realized anything. Before graduation, before Oikawa went to America, Iwaizumi was sure Oikawa wanted him to find out.

Oikawa wanted him to realize something was wrong. He wanted someone to comfort him and tell him everything would be fine.

He wanted Iwaizumi to go along with him to America.

“Ah, that was probably part of the reason as well. He did receive an invitation, but they retracted it once he informed them of his condition. But Oikawa-san wasn’t depressed and he said that he was planning to reject them from the beginning since there’s no point playing volleyball if Hajime-chan wasn’t on the same team.”

Iwaizumi splutters. “H-Hajime-chan?”

“Could that be you? Oikawa-san would always talk about you when I called to check up on his condition in America so I thought ‘Hajime-chan’ was definitely a girl.”

The tips of Iwaizumi’s ears hidden under his beanie flush red. “I’ll be going to see him now!”

“Hajime-san,” the doctor calls, unsure how else to address Iwaizumi. “Oikawa-san choked on his food yesterday. The extent of his disease has spread to his digestive system. I’ve already spoken to him about this but it might be better if you knew about it too. Please give him all the support you can. He probably has only a year left.”

Iwaizumi’s hand pauses at the door. “Can you give me a more precise number?”

“About two hundred and fifty days.”

* * *

_Two hundred and fifty-three_

It takes him six hours of mindless milling around after meeting the doctor until Iwaizumi musters enough courage to visit Oikawa. It’s a little after midnight, long past visiting hours, but the doctor lets him in. The latter was on the hospital bed, with bandages around his head, right arm and torso but otherwise looking fine enough.

“You’re too slow, Iwa-chan! How long did you think I waited?”

“Oh, shut up, I was busy.” Iwaizumi pulls a chair over and sits, placing a paper bag on Oikawa’s lap, gesturing for the brunet to unwrap it. “My Christmas gift to you.”

Oikawa pulls out the turquoise scarf and instantly starts laughing. In between the peals of laughter, he reaches over to grab his own gift in the bag “I… I got you something similar… Pfft.”

Iwaizumi blinks twice at the grey sweater Oikawa throws in front of him. It looks warm. “Th-”

“What’s this,” Oikawa stares at the gaping hole at the neckline. “Eh? Why? Did I tear it when I fell?”

Iwaizumi flinches slightly at how easily Oikawa could speak of his fall. Swallowing hard, he decides to play along to the lighthearted atmosphere. “Seriously? How clumsy are you? I can’t wear something with such a huge hole. Hurry up and mend it.”

“It’s fine! Just hide it with a scarf or something!”

“Impossible.”

“Iwa-chan! Are you bullying a patient now? Or do I look like I can do some intricate knitting with my hands like this?” Oikawa opens his hands, allowing Iwaizumi to note how they tremble. Oikawa probably couldn’t even write properly.

Iwaizumi attempts to stuff the sweater into Oikawa’s hands, and Oikawa shoves the article back towards Iwaizumi. “That’s why you should hurry up and get healed. Then mend this sweater. Or is it your policy to give half-assed gifts?”

“Didn’t you hear from the doctor? It’s incurable!”

“Are you dumb? It’s not that it’s incurable, just that the cure hasn’t been found!”

“How is that any diff-”

Enraged, Oikawa pulls the sweater towards himself, trying to make Iwaizumi fall forward and lose his grip on the sweater. Instead, the hole on it gets wider.

Oikawa gapes for two seconds before the situation sinks in and he freaks out. “Ah. Ahhhhh!! What did you do that for, Iwa-chan? How am I going to mend this now? Oh my, Iwa-chan, you-!”

Iwaizumi tightens his grip around Oikawa’s hands which are gripping at the sweater at the neckline around the hole.”Sorry.”

Oikawa falls silent.

“I… I’ll be quitting my job. It’s impossible for me to join the National team, but I’ll become a coach. Though I can’t imagine myself spiking a ball not tossed by you, if it’s as a coach, it might be bearable.”

Silence.

“I see.”

Another silence.

Oikawa lets his hands fall to his lap. Iwaizumi’s follow, and Oikawa intertwines their fingers together. “It’ll be great if I can see the Spring tournament. I’ll cheer your team on.”

“I’m sure you can. All the way up to the Nationals.”

Oikawa chuckles. “I’m looking forward to it.”

* * *

_A hundred and fifteen_

“Aren’t you eating anymore?” Iwaizumi gestures at the untouched bowl of congee.

“It’s bl...and…” Oikawa mutters. He is finding it more and more difficult to articulate properly and speech therapy hasn’t been helping much. With each passing day, there are fewer people who can understand him and the volunteers at the hospital made a board for him so he could point to the syllables instead of speaking.

But somehow, Iwaizumi can always comprehend what he says.

“Even so you have to eat. Or are you craving for some milk bread?”

Oikawa chuckles at the sight of Iwaizumi waving around a bread. “I… can’t sw...allow… that… Are yo...u making fun… of me?”

“Then I’ll just throw them into a blender and mash them all together. Then there won’t be any problems.”

“You’re… making... the mea...ning of… ‘bread’ lose its... meaning.”

Iwaizumi scoffs. “Isn’t it fine if it retains the taste? It’s not like you like it for the texture.”

“That’s tru...e but…”

“What a troublesome guy,” Iwaizumi comments teasingly and flicks Oikawa’s forehead. The latter pouts.

Iwaizumi sighs, changing the topic. “We lost to Dateko. Nationals is out of the picture for now but we still have the Winter tournament. Most of the team members don’t feel the need to practice volleyball but I’ll work with Matsukawa to change their viewpoint of that. And in the winter tournament, we’ll be aiming for the top. I’ll definitely get them to the Nationals.”

“If only… I cou...ld help out…”

“You are already helping. If you weren’t here I’ll probably remain as a salaryman my entire life, idiot.”

Oikawa grins. “Is that… a… confe...ssion?”

Iwaizumi flushes red from head to toe. “H-How? Why would it become like that?!”

“You have to keep silent in the wards.” The nurse pushes her cart into the room and picks up Oikawa’s untouch bowl of congee and rolls the cart back out. “But it’s nice to see Oikawa-san so lively for a change. Recently he’s been keeping to himself even when the volunteers come along. He’s really different when he’s with you, you two really get along.”

“Haha… Your face… is so red, Iwa...chan.”

“Shut up.”

“I love… you... Iwa-chan.”

“Shut. Up.”

* * *

_A hundred and three_

It’s coming soon, Oikawa can feel it. He knows.

The brunet stares at Iwaizumi folding his laundry and tucking the folded articles into the makeshift closet. It feels like it’s a miracle that he’s still alive ー he has always imagined himself in this state, bedridden, unable to move, being a burden on others ー ever since he was diagnosed with the illness.

At that time, he didn’t really know what to feel. He didn’t know what he should be feeling.

He remembers clinging helplessly to the false hope that being with Iwaizumi and the rest of his team in high school would miraculously heal him. He remembers how naïve and immature he was.

In America, he clinged to his family for emotional support until they caved under the pressure and sent him back to Japan.

Oikawa recalls feeling lost and miserable back here initially, wishing daily that he won’t meet someone he recognises. Now, he is just glad he returned.

“Where do I put this?” Iwaizumi waves the notepad at Oikawa.

“Ta...bl...e…”

Oikawa knows his pronunciation is getting worse but somehow Iwaizumi still understands. The dark-haired man crosses over and places the black-leather book down on top of the desk. Oikawa holds out his hand and grabs Iwaizumi’s arm. His hand is trembling so much that the action a normal person could cover in a second, he takes at least two whole minutes to do it.

Iwaizumi waits patiently until Oikawa holds his arm.

“Th...ank you…”

“Why?”

“I lo...ve you…” Oikawa says. His vocal chords aren’t cooperating, he can’t bring his voice higher than a whisper but Iwaizumi hears it and he presses a hand against Oikawa’s, as if reassuring him.

“I know.”

“I really… love you.” Oikawa repeats slowly. “Really… love you.”

The brunet repeats it over and over again, his voice raising in octaves with each time he says it. The higher pitch slurs his words together, punctuated with sobs that would make absolutely no sense to anyone else except Iwaizumi. Tears roll down Oikawa’s cheeks though he doesn't mean to cry.

However, he presses on because now, right now, Iwaizumi is still able to understand him. If he puts it off till tomorrow or the day after, or until the day when Iwaizumi can’t understand his words anymore ー Oikawa doesn’t want to think beyond that point.

“Oikawa, stop it. Stop it already. Why are you-?”

“I mi...ght not be able… to say it soon, so… let m...e say a lifetime’s… worth now… I… lo-”

His heart clenches.

Iwaizumi presses a chaste kiss to Oikawa’s lips, and wipes away the latter’s tears with his fingers. He stays in that position for a while until the throbbing in his chest doesn’t hurt anymore and Iwaizumi is sure his tears wouldn't overflow.

He can’t cry, not in front of Oikawa.

He has to stay strong. For him, and for himself. For them both.

“It’s okay,” he says as he gathers Oikawa’s limp body into his hands and hugs him tightly. He can feel Oikawa’s warmth seeping into him, and that’s all the proof Iwaizumi needs to assure himself that Oikawa is alive, right here and right now. “It’s okay. Even if you can’t say it anymore, I’ll say it on your behalf. I’ll say it so many times that it be more than enough to last us for three lifetimes. I love you... I love you.”

“Forever, I’ll love you, Tooru.”

* * *

**Author’s Note:** Who wrote this angsty piece of- So, who cried? I did. Anyway, I do love little touches of details, so if it’s not obvious by the time you finish this fanfiction, the “ _X hundred and XX_ ” in italics at the start of every part is the counter (in days) to Oikawa’s death. Yes, he still has a hundred and three days to live, and yes, he won’t be alive to cheer Iwaizumi and Matsukawa’s team on in the winter tournament. As to whether they succeed in going to the Nationals in the winter tournament or not, I’ll leave that to your imagination.

 


End file.
